


Coda

by EASchechter



Series: On his Brother-in-Law's Secret Service. [20]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Cabin Pressure, Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:13:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EASchechter/pseuds/EASchechter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor fulfills his promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coda

The wild ringing of the telephone jerked John out of a sound sleep. He fumbled for his mobile, glanced at the caller ID and the time -- _Christ,_ _Martin. H_ _alf three in the morning?_ \-- and picked it up on the second ring.

_John?_ There was a wavering sound to Martin's voice, the edge of tears. And John was immediately completely awake.

"Martin, what's wrong?" John demanded. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, heard Sherlock moving behind him.

_John... Grandfather is here. In Sussex. Now._

John stopped halfway to the closet. "Grandfather? The Doctor is there? Martin--" There was a low moan, behind him, and he turned to see the stricken look on Sherlock's face. And he knew, even before Martin spoke.

_John... he found Jim_.

#

Calls went out, and they came. Mrs. Hudson. Molly. Everyone from MJN. The Slayers. The Avengers. The surviving scattered members of the department, right down to Gwen Cooper. The Met. Even, to John's surprise, several Asgardians. Thor soberly apologized on behalf of Loki, who wanted to be there, but could not.

"Things are too tenuous in Jotunheim," he said. "He's probably in battle this morning. Again."

"Is it that bad?" John asked. They were out on the terrace, ignoring the chill of the early spring morning, looking out over the hives. Waiting.

"It's getting better," Thor answered. He sighed. "He won't accept my help."

"He can't, can he?" John asked.

"No," Thor admitted. "He has to hold the throne without influence of Asgard. Or it will all have been for nothing."

"Don't let Sherlock hear you say that," John warned. "Not today."

"I know." He looked over his shoulder. "We should go in."

John nodded and followed Thor into the house. Into the hall. The last time they'd been here was Christmas, when the room had been dominated by the enormous tree. Now, the room was filled with people speaking in soft voices, and was dominated by a single, mahogany box that seemed too small to contain the personality that was entombed within. He stopped for a moment, then moved up front to sit with Sherlock.

Martin had arranged everything, even to finding a young Irish Catholic priest who was willing to perform the funeral liturgy without mass, and who had arrived with a mass kit that morning. Father Brendan looked to be barely even thirty, but he had a sober air to him that John liked. He met with Sherlock and John, and never even batted an eye when he learned that Jim had been their partner. He simply nodded, offered them his condolences, discussed their wishes, and what they thought Jim would have wanted, asked a good number of questions about Jim, and taken notes. Then he promised to have "a nice service." Sherlock had surprised John then.

"I have something I want to be part of the service.

Father Brendan nodded, looked nonplussed. "I see. Will you let me know, so I'm prepared?"

"Yes, of course. John?"

John took the hint, and that had led to the conversation on the terrace. Once John was seated, Father Brendan began. John had attended enough funerals of various faiths to know that Father Brendan had a good voice, and he spoke the words well enough that if John had been a religious man, or Catholic, he'd have found comfort there. He heard Steve's voice from behind him, saying the responses in Latin, and hoped that someone, at least, was getting something out of this. He looked at Sherlock, who was sitting straight in his chair, his eyes on Father Brendan, and no expression on his face. On John's other side, Livvy was doing the same, while Martin kept removing his glasses, and looked as if he was fighting to keep his own emotions in check.

The blessings. The readings. The homily, where John recognized several of the things that he and Sherlock had told Father Brendan. Brendan spoke with deep emotion about the redemption and the life of James Malcolm Moriarty. Up until that moment, John hadn't even known that Jim had a middle name, and he wondered where Sherlock had learned it. Why no one had told him. Why it even mattered now. He swallowed, closed his eyes, and let the words wash over him.

More prayers. The Lord's Prayer. John felt Sherlock shift in his seat. Then Father Brendan spoke:

"Trusting in God, we have prayed together for James and now we come to the last farewell. There is sadness in parting, but we take comfort in the hope that one day we shall see James again and enjoy his friendship. Although this congregation will disperse in sorrow, the mercy of God will gather us together again in the joy of his kingdom. Therefore let us console one another in the faith of Jesus Christ."

Silence, until chairs creaked. Sherlock, Livvy and Mycroft rose, and the trio moved past the coffin to the piano in the corner. Mycroft sat down and uncovered the keys, looked up at Sherlock. Sherlock nodded and picked up what John recognized as his violin case. Livvy, he noticed, was carrying hers as well. But the violin that Sherlock took out of the case was not his Strad. It was the one that Jim had given him at Christmas, the one that John knew Sherlock had not been able to bring himself to even touch. Sherlock tucked the violin underneath his chin, and Mycroft stared playing.

John blinked as the violin started the melody. He _knew_ this song. He couldn't name it, but he knew it. Popular music, but Sherlock didn't usually play popular music. What...?

Then he recognized the chorus, and his breath caught. He covered his mouth with his hand, watching Sherlock, watching the tracks of tears starting as Sherlock, for the first time, played the antique violin to memorialize the man who'd given it to him. He heard someone sniff behind him, didn't dare look. Then Livvy joined, the sound of her violin mingling with Sherlock's, and John covered his face with his hands and wept.

Someone put their arms around him and held him, and he smelled the familiar scent of Mrs. Hudson's perfume. In his mind, he could hear the words now -- _Who wants to live forever? Who dares to love forever, when love must die?_

He looked up as the music died away, to see Sherlock lower the violin, nod his thanks to his brother, and turn toward the coffin. Moving slowly, deliberately, he laid the violin down on top of the coffin, leaned down and kissed the polished wood, then turned and walked back to his seat. John fumbled for his hand, held on tight. Livvy returned to her chair, only to bury her face in Martin's shoulder.

Father Brendan rose, and John heard his voice tremble as he spoke, "To you, O Lord, we commend the soul of James, your servant; in the sight of this world he is now dead; in your sight may he live for ever. Forgive whatever sins he committed through human weakness and in your goodness grant him everlasting peace. We ask this through Christ our Lord." A murmured "Amen," and Father Brendan nodded. "In peace let us take our brother to his place of rest."

In silence, they rose -- John, Sherlock, Mycroft, Martin, Douglas, and Greg. As they moved into place, Father Brendan took from the top of the coffin the Bible he had placed there earlier, and the violin. John took a deep breath, looked at the others, and stepped into position at the front corner. Facing him was Douglas. They'd all been coached by the funeral director, but there was a difference between coaching, and actually carrying the coffin out of the house and down the long walk to the cemetery. It was Greg who took charge. "On three. One, two, three."

The coffin rose and hovered without anyone touching it, and John looked back to see Martin with one hand raised. He nodded, and John stepped in, reaching under the coffin to rest his hand on Douglas' shoulder, feeling Douglas' hand on his own. He took hold of the bottom of the coffin, and felt the weight settle onto his arm. It wasn't as heavy as he'd expected, and he wondered if Martin had anything to do with that.

"Gentlemen," Father Brendan said. He started down the aisle. John and the others fell in behind him. By the time they reached the path, John was certain that Martin was taking most of the weight of the coffin. If anything, it kept getting lighter. As they reached the grave site, Father Brendan started singing, his voice a neat tenor:

_Remember me, remember me._

_For this alone I pray_

_And hold me deep within your heart_

_Forever from today_

As he finished, Greg spoke again. "All right. On three." The coffin rose once more, and then slowly lowered into the open grave. Father Brendan didn't even blink. He blessed the grave and the coffin, then picked up a handful of dirt and slowly let it fall.

"May the angels lead you into paradise," he said. "May the martyrs come to welcome you and take you to the holy city, the new and eternal Jerusalem." He folded his hands. "Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord."

Steve's voice rang out. " _Et lux perpetua luceat eis._ "

Father Brendan nodded. "May he rest in peace.

"Amen."

"May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace." The Priest looked out at them. "May the love of God and the peace of the Lord Jesus Christ bless and console us and gently wipe every tear from our eyes: in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." He crossed himself, and John bowed his head. "Go in the peace of Christ."

John stepped back, watching as the others came forward to drop their own handfuls of dirt into the grave. Father Brendan joined him.

"I hope I did him justice," he said softly.

"You did," John answered. "You did. He... it seems funny to say it, but he'd have approved."

"Good. I'm glad. He was well loved, and that's all anyone can ask for in this world, isn't it?" He held up the violin. "I'll give this to you."

"No."

"Sherlock?" John looked up as Sherlock came up to them.

"I want it buried with him," Sherlock said. "Will you do that? Bless it, or whatever it is you do, so it can be buried?"

"Mister Holmes, are you sure?" Father Brendan asked.

"It was his grandfather's," Sherlock said. "He gave it to me the day before he..."

"Captain Crieff explained the situation to me," Father Brendan said. "And you're certain?"

"Yes, I said that!"

"Sherlock!" John snapped. Brendan only laughed.

"No, it's all right. Trust me, I've had worse from the bereaved. If you'll come with me?" He brought them over to the grave, and took a small flask from his pocket. With soft words, he blessed the violin, then looked around. "Captain, may I borrow you for a moment?"

"Yes, Father?" Martin asked.

Father Brendan held up the violin. "Will you put this on the casket, please? I'd hate to drop it."

Martin's eyes widened, and he looked at Sherlock. But he didn't ask. He nodded and held his hand out. The violin wafted towards him, then down, settling gently on the dirt-strewn coffin. Martin frowned, and there was a slight flare of light.

"What did you do?" Father Brendan asked.

"Sealed it to the lid. I don't want anyone getting any ideas and making off with it," Martin answered. "Thank you, Father."

"Magic doesn't bother you?" John asked.

The priest laughed. "Oh, no. My mother and my grandmother were both witches. I grew up around the uncanny."

"Come up to the house, Father," Martin said. "I'm sure people will want to talk."

"Of course."

"We'll be up soon," Sherlock said. "Don't wait the reception on us."

Martin nodded, and started herding people out of the cemetery. Soon enough, Sherlock and John were the only ones left. Sherlock stood at the foot of the grave for a long time, silent. Then he nodded.

"You're the executor, you know."

"Am I?"

Sherlock glanced at him. "Yes. Can we move Sebastian here, do you think?"

John nodded. "If you want. I think he'd like that."

Sherlock pointed to the place on the left. "There." Then he pointed to the open area to the right. "And I'll be here. And you'll be on my other side."

John blinked. "You're planning our gravesites?"

"I want to be between you both," Sherlock answered. "Just... just in case."

"Just in case there is an afterlife. When did you decide to believe?"

"I don't," Sherlock answered. Then he hesitated. "But I don't know, either. He believed. He told me once that he always did believe in a higher power. So... perhaps he's waiting."

John smiled. "Maybe he is."

Sherlock looked at John, then held out his hand. "Let's go back to the house. I want to see my grandsons."

John took Sherlock's hand and fell in beside him. "Your grandfather told me that James is going to be extraordinary."

"He has a lot to live up to, doesn't he?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> The music:
> 
> Who Wants to Live Forever, by Queen.  
> Performed by David Garrett  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4uRC4nUQSRQ
> 
> The Irish Farewell, by Steve Werner  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gA-jgxUNDSc


End file.
